


Literally Falling

by vague_ambition



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Post-Reichenbach, Silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-14
Updated: 2013-08-14
Packaged: 2017-12-23 10:34:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/925331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vague_ambition/pseuds/vague_ambition
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock is embarrassed and lies to John. Because he's an idiot, he doesn't realize how John will react to his excuse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Literally Falling

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing! This was my first fic for Sherlock, and it also was the first fic I wrote in 2 years, just a warning. I'm just uploading it now :)

“JOHN!” Sherlock Holmes shouted, slamming his hands down on their kitchen table.  No answer came, not that he was expecting one. John was, after all, at the store.  Sherlock had managed to notice that much, he WAS the world’s only consulting detective. 

So why couldn’t he figure out what was wrong with him? He jumped from his chair and spun around the kitchen, pacing angrily.  He wasn’t drugged, he knew that feeling.  Hell, he still craved that feeling.  This was something else- something JOHN had given him. When had it started?

He hadn’t stopped thinking about his flatmate the entire time he was away.  It had kept him going, thinking of reuniting with his blogger. Three years had been far too long, and although he had been back for a month and a half now, John would still jump sometimes when he entered a room, and he had heard his friend crying out more than once in a nightmare. 

The day he came back, John had given him a black eye, started crying, and embraced him, all within the space of a minute.  After a long night of Sherlock explaining and John examining his various poorly-healed injuries, they had both crashed on the couch.  When Sherlock had woken up, he had found himself curled up to John. He had wanted to stay there forever- something odd, because he had never really considered himself a cuddly person.  But when John had woken up, he had stuttered something awkwardly and they had gone about their business, slowly but surely sliding in to their old routines.  Since that moment, though, Sherlock had been thinking about how it felt to be close to his friend. He kept enunciating that word in his head- FRIEND.  John was his friend, his flatmate.  Nothing more.

 He was a high functioning sociopath, for crying out loud. He was incapable of feeling love, deep emotion.  He didn’t like cuddling!   He was Sherlock Holmes, affection was a chemical defect in the losing side, he didn’t really feel sexual attraction, he was not in love with John Watson. 

“I’m not in love with John Watson!” he shouted out to the empty flat, as if yelling it would make it true.  Because Sherlock wasn’t stupid, he knew that he was lying to himself.  He had purposely put a large padlock on the John rooms of his mind palace, going in only on the worst days of those three years, but he knew what was in there.

“JOHN!” he shouted again, kicking the couch. He hit his toe painfully and went to grab it, before becoming tangled up in his dressing gown and falling over.  To his delight, John chose that moment to return from his shopping. 

_“Nothing like embarrassing yourself in front of someone who you-”_ Sherlock cut his sarcastic thoughts off before they could state how he felt about his FRIEND.

“Erm…Sherlock?” John asked, trying not to laugh.  “What are you doing on the floor?”

“Observing.” Sherlock lied, saying the first thing that came to his mind.  “It’s for a case.”

“Oh, really?” John raised an eyebrow.  “Which one is this?”  
“It’s from a book.” Sherlock added, smiling as convincingly as he could.  “I just wanted to see if the way the character got hurt was probable.

“Was it?”

“No.” Sherlock shrugged.  “Getting caught in a dressing gown and falling over and breaking your neck by hitting your head on the couch is statistically unlikely.” John went pale instantly.

            “Sherlock, are you kidding me?” he exclaimed.  Sherlock reevaluated his words, and winced, realizing what he had come up with.  “You did something that might put your life in danger AGAIN because it was in a book? And you were bloody curious?”

“No!” Sherlock exclaimed.  “No, I was…” He struggled to stand up, still lying on the floor, but fell back down again, entangled in his robe. “I wasn’t actually…”

“I don’t want to talk to you right now, Sherlock.” John snapped. He dropped the groceries and turned on his heel. “I’ll be back later.”

            Sherlock finally managed to get up just as John stormed down the stairs and slammed the front door shut.  He groaned- his stupid little lie to save himself from embarrassment had not gone the way he planned. Not that he had planned it, but still…it could have gone much better.  How the hell was he supposed to solve this?

            Three hours later, John had still not returned.  It was almost eight at night, and Sherlock was becoming…concerned, to say the least.  He pulled on his customary blue scarf and jacket, checking his phone for the hundredth time to see if John had text him back.  There was no reply to any of his thirteen texts.  He hailed a cab and slid in, giving the address of the pub John used to frequent back when he thought Sherlock was dead.  

            Sherlock threw some money, far too much, at the cabbie when they pulled up and jumped out.  He burst in to the pub, conspicuously, trying to hide his panic until-

“Sherlock?” Sherlock breathed a sigh of relief to see his blogger standing there, slightly drunk, but fine. “What are you doing here? What’s wrong?”

“You didn’t text back.” Sherlock replied, shrugging.  John seemed marginally less angry.  “Look, John, I need to talk to you.”

“What about? I’m still angry, you dick.”  He said, but the smile on his face didn’t support his protests.

“What I said earlier, I was lying.” Sherlock said quickly.  John raised an eyebrow clearly confused.  “I got frustrated, and kicked the couch, which caused me to stub my toe and get tangled up in my robe and fall over. Then you walked in and so I said the first thing to come in my head because I was embarrassed.  I wasn’t risking my life, John; I wouldn’t do that to you again.  I was just trying to hide my clumsiness.”

John stared at him for a second in disbelief.  Sherlock fidgeted nervously underneath his gaze for a few minutes, before John broke out in loud laughter.

“You…absolute…prat.” He gasped through his laughs.  “You lied because you fell over? You’re so full of it, Sherlock Holmes, so completely full of it.” 

“Excuse me.” Sherlock scoffed.  “Let’s go home, John, you’re drunk.”

“Oh no you don’t.”  John grabbed his sleeve as he attempted to walk off.  “Tonight, you are going to be a real mate, and have a few drinks with me.”  Sherlock froze.  He knew that even his senses could be dulled with alcohol, the few filters he had disabled.  The feelings, the confusion, the…don’t think about it! Everything that went through his head could come pouring out, and a lot of that was not anything he wanted John to be aware of.

“But…” he protested weakly. “I don’t want to have drinks.” 

“Do you want to spend any time with me?” John asked, threateningly. Sherlock nodded. “Then you’re going to have drinks.  Bartender! A shot for the gentleman, please.”

            Sherlock groaned, but went along with it, just because he wanted to spend time with John.  A few drinks in, drinking didn’t seem so bad, so he just kept going. He and John were giggling like schoolgirls, and Sherlock was enjoying it.

“We’re closing up, fellas.” The bartender said, waving at them. “Thanks for the business.”

“C’mon, Sherlock.” John slurred. “We gotta go home.” Sherlock, unused to being intoxicated, followed dumbly.

“John, we need a taxi.” He said, his words running together a little more than necessary.  Just then, Sherlock’s foot caught the curb and he found himself on the ground for the second time that day.

            “Shit, are you okay?” John asked, running up to him. Sherlock realized that he had hit his head, because John was all starry.

“Perfect.” He breathed, not thinking at all. “Hey John?”

“What is it?” John asked, helping him up. “You sure you’re okay?”

“I love you.” Sherlock told him, before sucking in air, realizing what he had just said. “I mean…I’m sorry, thank you…erm…” he was too drunk to form coherent excuses for what he had just said.  Instead of freaking out, however, John chuckled.

“I know.” He shrugged. “I love you too, you madman.” Sherlock stared at John, in surprise.

“Really?” he asked. John nodded, and then stood up on his tiptoes to kiss the consulting detective.

“Always wanted to do that.” He commented after they broke apart. Sherlock blinked, seeing fireworks.

            Sherlock had no recollection of getting into a cab, or getting home, or anything after that. He woke up the next morning with John next to him- both fully clothed- in his bed, cuddling. When John woke up, he leaned up and kissed Sherlock as if it wasn’t the kind of thing that made Sherlock’s whole day. Looking back on it, Sherlock realized that falling over that day hadn’t been such a bad thing after all.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think!


End file.
